


Choice

by FriendlyCybird



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Referenced Homelessness, Referenced Memory Loss, Stangst, Suicidal Thoughts, like that's the entire premise, not overly happy but it'll do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 21:35:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16879617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendlyCybird/pseuds/FriendlyCybird
Summary: The night before summer ends, Stan remembers that Ford told him to leave. He takes some time to consider his options, and makes a choice.





	Choice

It was almost 4PM on Thursday, August 30th. Stanley Pines was sitting in his chair in the living room, one hand on the armrest and the other in his lap. The TV was off, Stanford was in his basement study, the kids were out somewhere in the woods or in town, and he had a choice. 

When the thought had first come to him, it hadn’t been in a moment of sadness. Rather, in a desperate sort of stubbornness. It wasn’t that he wanted to die. It was just that, after what he’d just remembered, he didn’t particularly want to live either. He couldn’t stay, that didn’t mean he actually had to go anywhere. 

“You can stay until the end of the summer…” 

If Ford wanted his life back, Stan would give it to him. That’d been the entire point of bringing him back, hadn’t it? It hurt though. Somehow, it actually physically hurt him. An agonizing ache spreading through his upper abdomen, though that might just be pressure from his spine due to the way he was slouching in his seat. 

Stanford called him a hero these days. Maybe he’d changed his mind. 

The risk that he hadn’t was too great. Stanley couldn’t bear to hear him say the words. 

When he’d remembered pushing Ford through the portal, his brother had been there. Ford’s arm had been a reassuring weight across his shoulders, a reminder that whatever had happened, whatever he’d done, he’d made it better. He’d fixed it and Ford was home and Stan had breathed deeply against Ford’s shoulder until the urge to sob had passed. An hour later, he’d remembered being punched in the face for his efforts. 

“How come you never thanked me?” He’d asked, pulling away. They’s still been sitting so close together, that Stan recoiled from him physically at the memory. 

Ford had actually reached for him then. His smile was sad but he’d still been smiling. “Because I wasn’t worth the risk, Stanley.” 

Stan flexed his fingers. Remembering, calling an event to the present moment at a whim instead of fighting for it through a sea of nothing. He remembered lacing his five fingers through his brothers six and answering “Of course you are.” like it was the most natural thing in the world. When Ford’s hand had tightened on his, for a second, Stan had thought he was about to have his tense corrected. He’d grinned, excited to spring on his nerd brother that he’d thought that through in advance and meant exactly what he said. Then he’d looked up. 

If someone did it again, punched his very identity into the memory gun and shot his mind out of him all over again, Stan was convinced he would still remember the way Ford had looked at him then. All pain and anger, almost betrayal, like Stan had stabbed him. Ford opened his mouth to say something, to scold him, and Stan had cut him off. He’d asked some inane question, some detail of a childhood memory he hadn’t quite put all the way together yet. With the subject change, he’d watched Ford soften. They’d talked for hours more, but Stan had known then that something between them was broken forever. 

Now he knew what. 

He wanted a drink. 

Stan had been homeless before, and while he still didn’t remember much about that decade he trusted he could do it again if he had to. This time he even had a leg up. You don’t run a successful business for thirty years without building up a savings. Those thousands of dollars waiting for him at a local community bank, in an account he’d fed every week for all thirty of those years. The one he paid Soos and Wendy and even himself out of, ordered stock through. Stan was a miser though, and there were thousands of dollars in there. Enough to start over. Enough that he had a shot. 

A shot at nothing. 

He could remember now, he didn’t want to but he did. Dozens if not quite hundreds of times across a decade he’d started a new enterprise, only for it to fail. Even those first few years here, where the bones of it were already in place for him had been a hellish sort of tedium he’d only gotten through because he had a purpose. Well, he’d achieved that purpose, and had no reward. Where to now? 

Nowhere. 

A crappy apartment. A half-legit business he couldn’t imagine himself actually caring about. The slow grind of building, without any sort of passion behind it. The threat of it all falling apart anyway hanging over his head. Then what? A younger Stanley had the answer, start over. Go somewhere else and do whatever he had to do to get his feet under him, then take off running all over again. He was too old for that now. Too tired. At the best of times it was mind-numbingly tedious, and at the worst of times it was hellish and violent and there were options he’d had then he just wouldn’t have now. 

And that was what awaited him if he took the money. 

The twins were leaving tomorrow. They’d want to spend the whole day as a family, probably. There’d be no way to escape for a secret erend. There was a birthday party and a dozen other things and by the time the bus pulled away, taking the best things that had ever happened to him with it, the bank would be closed. Then he’d leave, and by Monday he’d be well past the most distant branch of the tiny bank he used. This was his last chance at that life. At any life. Because what would happen if he didn’t? 

Summer was over, so he’d plunge right into the cold months. He’d have his car, but with just the cash he kept stashed in the house he wouldn’t be able to keep it and himself fueled very long. Food and gas had only gotten more expensive in the last thirty years, and soon he’d have nothing. Then he’d be reduced to...well, he’d be too proud to beg for change and even if he weren’t that wouldn’t go far enough to keep him from starving for very long. Surviving the winter was a huge if. Especially with the shadows at the edge of his memory telling him there were places he could be in big trouble if he turned up, but refusing to let him know where. 

So there really was only one option left, wasn’t there? 

He’d have to bring a gun. There weren’t a lot of other options. He didn’t want to wreck the car, he’d rather find a way to leave it to the kids for when they were old enough. It’d served him long enough, it’d be a good start for them. 

What Ford would say, think, feel, for a twisted moment Stan was glad of. If after everything, Ford still wanted him gone, Stan would oblige in the worst possible way and there was a malicious joy in that. In punishing his brother. Or, at least there was one minute. In the next the very idea was horrific. He could remember his own grief with a sickening clarity. He gripped the armrest and let the wave of old emotion break on him, breathing slowly through it. He’d had hope then, how much worse would it be for Ford when there was none? The question was almost enough to make him reconsider. 

“You can stay until the end of summer…” 

Then again, he’d always cared more than Ford had, hadn’t he? If their positions were reversed, the loss would destroy him. He might even turn to some kind of dark magic, if such a thing existed, and bring his brother back again. It was both comforting and painful to know Ford would do no such thing, after all, he was the one forcing him to leave in the first place. 

Stan’s thoughts returned to the hope that Ford had changed his mind. After everything, he couldn’t possibly still want Stan to go, could he? He hadn’t said otherwise, but he had no reason to expect Stan to remember. Except memories from this summer had been the fastest to return, flooding his mind so fast he sometimes choked on them. If Ford really wanted him there, he could have headed all this off. Besides...

His fingers twitched, he really wanted that drink. 

So, that was his choice made then. 

Stan leaned back in his seat, eyes closed as he dropped his head backwards, and waited to find peace in it. The peace never came. His eyes filled with tears and he held his breath so they’d pass. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to stay. To help Ford clear away the wreckage of the thing that had almost destroyed the world. To keep running the Mystery Shack to pay the bills while Ford resumed his research free from the pressure to report his findings for grants. He wanted the kids to visit every summer so he could watch them grow up. He wanted his family. 

He couldn’t have them though. 

For a terrible, sickening moment, he imagined doing it tonight. It’d be easy. Grab a gun, wander out into the woods… they’d spend all day tomorrow looking for him. Then when they found him… well, he didn’t want to ruin their birthday like that. He thought about doing it tomorrow night. If he didn’t want to leave Gravity Falls, he didn’t have to. He could even tell Ford he was leaving like he’d been asked to. If Ford said something to confirm it, if he broke Stan’s heart again, well, it wasn’t like he’d have to go more than an hour into the woods after that. 

So there it was. Choice made, Details planned. It was his last night on earth, so it was time to focus on making it a good one. 

-

It wasn’t. His last night on earth, that is. Twenty-four hours later and everything was different. He was still leaving Gravity Falls. He just wasn’t doing it alone. He had his family and the relief was like a physical thing. 

“Stanley?” 

“Yeah?” Ford entered the living room, he was carrying something. A slip of paper. Stan looked up at him curiously before he recognized it. Or rather, took a good guess. A single sheet of printer paper folded into thirds. The concerned look on Ford’s face. It wasn’t hard to put the pieces together. “Were you snooping?” he demanded. 

“That doesn’t matter.” Ford dismissed as he held up the paper. “Stanley, is this recent?” 

Stan deflated. “Mentions you, doesn’t it?” 

“When…” Ford started, then redirected “Why?” 

Half a dozen lies flew to the tip of Stanley’s tongue. He chose the least sentimental. “Everybody oughta have one. The uh, well it turned out I owned a lot less then I use to, so I put together an update.” he shrugged. “Check the safe, my old one should still be in there. Left everything to Soos.” Ford frowned deeply, like he didn’t believe him. “Seriously, Sixer, go look. I know you were like, thirty, when you left.” Twenty eight, but the point stood. “But we’re old now. Gotta think of these things.” 

Ford opened the paper and Stan bristled. “There are references to holding things. The car, until the twins sixteenth birthday. This cash allotment until...Wendy’s first year of college? Stan that’s only a few years away. You wrote this like you’re expecting to die tomorrow.” 

Tonight, actually. Stanley didn’t voice the mental correction. Of course not. “You never know, Ford.” he said instead. ”Maybe I will.” Ford look horrified, and that moment of twisted joy at the idea of his brothers reaction to losing him came back. Then receded as quickly as it had last night. Stan was still grinning when he said “I’m kiddin, geez. Calm down. I know I’ve got a while left. Just…” he paused, searching out a suitable explanation. He found one, though there was the potential for a giant hole in it. If Ford noticed that Stan wouldn’t have had time to write that up in the last few hours, he was done for. He hoped the note of truth to the story he was about to spin would carry them past that. He sighed, perhaps a bit too dramatically. “Stanford, I’ve spent the last thirty years basically hiding out. Avoiding the weird the best I can. Now I’m gonna be seeking it out. Don’t get me wrong, I’m excited. Looking forward to the treasure and babes.” he paused, flashing a grin and letting it fade. “I just...like I said, I’m old. I’m not in great shape…” Fear struck. He might well be shooting himself in the foot here. “Don’t get me wrong, I can still keep up with you any day. I just...wanna keep my bases covered.” 

It was Ford’s turn to sigh, and Stan tried to read him. Ford spoke then. “Alright. That’s...good enough I suppose.” 

Stan really should have just let the matter drop. He hated himself for asking “Why? What’d you think it was about?”

Ford frowned. “I...don’t really know.” he admitted. Then he deflated. “Stanley...while physically you may have been alive all this time...I already lost you once this week. Seeing that you’d planned for if it happened again, irreversibly…” Ford trailed off, then shrugged. “I’ll go...return this to your desk.” and he turned and did just that. 

Alone with his thoughts, Stan sighed heavily. Seemed like Ford had bought it. 

That choice he’d made? No one had to know about it. Ever.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was born roughtly 50/50 out of a desire to thwap Ford in the back of the head with his own journal for waiting until the last possible minute to tell Stan he not only wasn't kicking him out but he wanted them to travel together...
> 
> And from a need to vent about that horrible feeling of "I don't want to die but right now the alternative sounds even worse"


End file.
